


Knowledge

by tornyourdress



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/F, Trills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2009-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tornyourdress/pseuds/tornyourdress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last time Jadzia Dax was on the Trill homeworld, she slept with a seventeen-year-old girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowledge

The last time Jadzia Dax was on the Trill homeworld was 2371.

You know this because you are Dax.

The last time Jadzia Dax was on the Trill homeworld, she slept with a seventeen-year-old girl.

Jadzia had returned to Trill because her isoboramine levels were too low. The girl vaguely recognised the term. "You're joined?" she asked, and Jadzia took her hand and pressed it against her stomach so she could feel the symbiont pulsing inside her.

The girl was completing her final year of high school on Trill rather than New Sydney because she wanted to be somewhere where she'd be as prepared for Starfleet Academy the following year as she could possibly be. That was her excuse, anyway; the actual reason had more to do with escaping from her home for a year than academic opportunities.

You know this because you are Dax, and because the girl told Jadzia this as they got more and more drunk in a small bar in the capital.

You know this because you were once Ezri Tigan, and you told her.

You didn't make the connection when you heard about the Dax symbiont. Even when you watched it, a giant ugly slug, being lowered into you, you didn't think that maybe it was the same creature that had once inhabited that woman you fucked when you were seventeen and _living_ for the first time.

It comes back to you in pieces, like the rest of the memories, fragmented and broken and blurring together, so many of them, so many that you can't figure out who's experienced what, whose life story is playing out in your head at any particular time.

Because at first when it hits you, you think that it's Ezri's memory. Which one is Ezri, you wonder, before remembering that Ezri is you.

Ezri remembering being on her knees in a dark alley, looking up at – Ezri? No, that's wrong. _Jadzia_ on her knees, _Ezri_ against the wall moaning and sighing and biting her lip as she comes, Jadzia kissing Ezri, Ezri kissing Jadzia, and oh _fuck_ that was Jadzia _Dax_ that night, Ezri, and how could you forget the first girl, how could you forget the flirtatious older woman who you thought about for months afterwards, haunted and aroused by memories of her fingers and tongue inside of you, how could you forget her name?

So you see it from Jadzia's point of view, now, and your own, and it's too much, even more bizarre than having eight lifetimes of experience dumped into your head all at once, and the whole thing makes you grab your head and shake it, as though you can shake the memories out, as though you can make it all go away.

Too much, too much to remember checking out that cute young girl and knowing right away that she needed someone (was it _that_ obvious? Your cheeks burn in shame; it was, clearly) and noting her nervousness, too much to remember being amused at how innocent and chaste that first kiss was and how decidedly unchaste the following were, when she – you – felt she – you – had something to prove to you – her – _who?_ No wonder you can't get your pronouns straight; in some ways it's easier to think in third person.

For Ezri that night was about firsts. First time with a girl. First time initiating a kiss. First one-night stand. First time in an alley. First time she enjoyed sex. First time she fell in love.

Not love. A crush. She told herself it was just a crush.

You. You told yourself it was just a crush. A stupid crush, because you were never going to see her again. She was going back to her job. You wanted to cry when you realised you hadn't asked her where she was stationed. She was gone.

She wasn't ever going to think about you, some stupid naïve _child_ she'd picked up in a bar one night, ever again. Not the way you thought about her.

You knew that was the way it worked, but you held out hopes that maybe she'd think of you occasionally, that the night meant _something_ to her.

Ignorance is bliss. Now you know. You know that she didn't. You know it didn't mean anything, not really.

You didn't care about that girl. It was just – fun.

But you are that girl, and you cared.

But you didn't.

It blurs. Who are you? You either cared or you didn't, make up your mind. Ezri, Jadzia, which one of you is sitting with her head in their hands trying to block out the memory entirely?

You close your eyes and try to breathe.

You place your hands on your abdomen and wish you could rip Dax out of you.

But you are Dax.

Who kissed who that night? You are not sure. You are dizzy as Jadzia's mouth presses against your neck. You are whispering and whimpering into Ezri's shoulder as her fingers work their magic. You are experiencing the best sex you've ever had. You're having a fairly good but not spectacular night.

You know everything, now; you've seen the story from both sides.

You know this because you are Dax, what Jadzia was and what Ezri would become.

You know this, but you wish you didn't.


End file.
